


Remove a Touch

by sciencebluefeelings



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Human Genitalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 09:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20637284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebluefeelings/pseuds/sciencebluefeelings
Summary: Ambassador Spock is assaulted on his way to visit theEnterprise.





	Remove a Touch

It is still unclear how the intruders were able to enter Spock's room while Spock was deep in meditation and vulnerable.

He finds himself on his feet, surrounded by gripping hands. There is a blindfolded obscuring his vision, and his wrists are handcuffed behind his back.

Spock quickly considers his surroundings. He is on a modified _Ganan-_type vessel, a starship intended to efficiently transport several passengers through space, stopping frequently at space stations and planets. Spock is on his way to the _Enterprise_ where Jim awaits his arrival. No doubt, Spock's counterpart of this universe and the other crew members are already well-informed of Spock's impending visit.

Spock requested accommodation on a lower floor, where the solitude would render it less likely that other passengers would wake him up due to his sensitive hearing. Now the isolation meant there was a low probability of someone hearing and coming to his assistance.

The handcuffs binding Spock feel light and flimsy. The captors have underestimated his strength. Combined with the element of surprise, there is a marginal chance of escape that Spock must attempt. 

Spock wrenches his arms apart and the handcuffs snap instantly.

He moves to remove the blindfold, but his captors are swifter. They are able to match his strength with overwhelming numbers and aggressive curses. Spock still cannot determine the number of people surrounding him.

Then a dizzying sensation overtakes Spock and he staggers. The captors appear to anticipate the loss of coordination, guiding him backwards. Spock's heart is palpitating at his side and he dimly realizes he has somehow been drugged.

Spock feels himself tipping. He feels the press of the mattress against his back. His limbs, loose and difficult to control, are pinned down to the bed. Someone is removing his clothing, tearing the loose fabric without mercy. The broken handcuffs rattle on his wrists, mocking him.

Spock has not had sufficient time to meditate, and the drug wrecks his mental control. Thoughts skitter in frantic bursts, adding to Spock's mounting panic. He tries in vain to read the touches pressing onto his bare skin, but all he can sense are topical emotions, every one raw and unpleasant.

Spock closes his eyes in alarm. Not only is he unable to properly read their thoughts, he cannot bring up his mental shields. He cannot suppress hearing the lust, the adrenaline and dizzying intent to overpower and conquer.

Spock's thighs are forced apart, baring his slit to the cool, recycled air of the ship. Rough hands slip inside, impatient and painful. Spock grunts as his cock is forcefully unsheathed and stroked. Another set of hands continue to stroke and pinch the folds of his sheath. 

Humiliation overwhelms Spock. This was not supposed to happen. He is old but certainly not old for a Vulcan. He should have been strong enough to fend off the intruders, regardless of their numbers, regardless of the drug.

His slick is dripping from his slit onto the mattress, soaking under him, making obscene noises as it rubs against fabric and skin. Two fingers coated with slick press into Spock's mouth. Disgusted, he tries to turn his head away but the fingers follow, spreading the flavorless discharge on his tongue.

The fingers retreat to pinch a nipple, and Spock arches off the bed with helpless arousal.

As if spurred by the uncharacteristic reaction, the fingers double their intensity, yanking and flicking and rubbing. Spock hears wanton moans escaping through his teeth and is powerless to stop them.

Jim had also figured out that Spock's nipples were the most sensitive part of his body. He would press Spock down in the middle of his chest and play with them for hours, alternating between using his mouth and fingers, smirking as he gently scraped the bud with a fingernail. The present is a cheap, amplified version of the memories.

Something cold and blunt is positioned against his entrance, teasing at the rim. Startled by this new sensation, Spock tries to draw his thighs together. His muscles quiver from exertion. The logical option would be to relax and prevent greater damage. Spock cannot relax.

The object slides in, too large and much too abrupt. Spock cries out in pain. A comm camera clicks right next to his face. Spock hears the sound and freezes. 

His first thought is of Jim - if his intended somehow obtained this footage -

A second thrust blanks out any previous thoughts and Spock cries out again.

The object continues to thrust deeper inside him. The hand encircling his cock matches the timing of the thrusts, dragging against the oversensitized flesh. Spock is dimly aware that he is handcuffed again, spread-eagled on the bed. He does not care. His ragged voice sounds distant to his own ears. Everything feels far and far too close at the same time.

Spock slowly comes back to a certain degree of alertness. His whimpers are hoarse and his throat is raw. No one is touching him anymore. The object inside him is gone. 

Spock grits his teeth and yanks his hands down. The cheap bed frame shatters, freeing Spock's wrists, and Spock tugs off the blindfold - a firmly tied piece of thick dark cloth. Spock recognizes the fabric instantly. It's a ripped section of his favorite cardigan, a gift from Jim for their third anniversary.

The other contents of Spock's suitcase match the state of the destroyed cardigan. The door is closed. The lights are at the same level they were when Spock began meditating. Sweat and slick coating aching flesh are chilling to the core.

Spock curls up on his side and sobs.

*

Jim's voice echoes through the star station's exit port. “_What do you mean, they can't do anything else about it?_”

The representative of the starship appears unfazed by the outburst. The indifference serves only to fuel Jim's rage. The police already departed 23.8 minutes ago.

“There is no point in doing this, Jim.” Spock's head rests on the young captain's shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around the captain's. “The starship stopped at two stations before I was able to call for assistance. Thousands of passengers departed and boarded in that period of time. The authorities tested me and cannot find anything. There were no emissions other than my own. I am unsure of the intruders' race or gender. Nor can I begin to speculate on their motives. I cannot even determine how many there were.”

Spock has never felt so tired. He lets his eyes fall shut, breathing in the scent of Jim, letting it ground him. The robe he wears is not unscathed - it is missing a sleeve, and Spock has to hold together the large tear down the front collar. 

“There has to be _something_,” Jim says, desperation coloring his usual assertive tone. “Fucking - the cops didn't even remove the cuffs on your wrists!” His voice cracks. “How could they let them get away with - with - “

Spock discreetly looks to his side. People have begun to recognize Captain Jim Kirk. Seeing the young captain with the disheveled aged Vulcan was only cultivating further interest.

“Jim, please,” Spock murmurs.

Jim wavers. Only now does he also notice the forming audience. He makes another noise of frustration.

Spock feels the moment Jim concedes. The young captain guides Spock through the crowd, in the direction of the _Enterprise._ Neither of them look back.

Spock can feel Jim attempting to control his rage. The emotion batters at painstakingly constructed mental shields, shields that Spock taught Jim to form. It was a long, arduous process. Spock thought it was unnecessary. Jim persisted because, according to him, he wanted to learn every possible way he could protect Spock. 

In the end, the emotion is too great. The effects of the drug persist, rendering Spock's own mental defenses useless. Spock has to pull away from Jim, and he finds instant relief in the respite.

Jim looks gutted by the separation. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm trying.”

Spock keeps walking, his arms wrapped around himself to prevent the handcuffs from rattling. “The fault is my own due to my insufficient ability to overcome the situation.”

Jim frowns. “Spock.”

They finally board the docked _Enterprise_. “Spock, wait.”

Jim pulls Spock aside by his sleeve, carefully avoiding the metal of the handcuffs. He leads them to an abandoned corridor. The crewmembers are gone, no doubt reveling in their precious time on shore leave.

Jim turns to face him. “_Spock_. By insufficient ability, I hope you're referring to the mental barriers, not your inability to avoid - what happened.”

Spock is silent.

Jim makes a noise of distress. “None of this was your fault.”

Spock buries his face in his hands, overcome with shame. “I should have been able to stop them.”

“_No_. That’s not how this works.” Jim slides his hand behind Spock's neck, projecting comfort and safety, and Spock leans into the caress. 

Jim's voice is bitter. “If we bonded sooner, maybe I could've stopped it somehow.”

The thought of Jim's mind subjected to the rape makes Spock freeze on the spot.

Spock's voice is harsh. “The only thing a bond would have done is unnecessarily subject you to my pain. Pain you should not have to endure.”

A flash of incredulous exasperation passes across Jim's touch before he pulls away. “Really, Spock?” His words are quiet, with no heat behind them. “Your pain is already mine.”

Spock is helpless to the despair and immense love that surges inside him. He looks into bright eyes brimming with concern and tender affection. 

His intended is so, so beautiful. How did this brilliant, bright man ever fall for him?

Spock averts his eyes again.

Jim sighs and repositions his hand to hold Spock’s sleeve. They continue to walk down the hallway to the turbolift. Jim says, “The only ones that know what happened are myself and Bones because he has to examine you.”

“That is fine.”

“The others are confused about why they don't get to see you, but they can stand to be confused this once.” Jim’s face is grim as they enter the turbolift. “Medical Bay.”

*

The doctor gently asks Jim to leave the examination room. 

Jim frets and delays, complains about the police and lists symptoms of the drug that is still affecting Spock. Spock fidgets, and that is when Doctor McCoy changes his tone and firmly tells Jim to wait outside. 

The first thing the doctor does is remove the broken handcuffs with a pair of terrifying pliers. They fall to the ground one by one, exposing dark abrasions and bruises in a ring around each wrist.

Spock informs Doctor McCoy that he is amenable to the captain's request for him to be tested again. As Doctor McCoy snaps on a pair of gloves, Spock removes his ripped outfit.

Spock finally looks down at his battered flesh for the first time. His body is mottled with welts, converging to his nipples which are darkened with bruises. Ruthless imprints surround each nipple in a tight circle. There is a long, shallow gash down his inner thigh that he did not notice before. His sheath is loose and sensitive, and his irritated cock is still partially visible because he did not achieve orgasm.

The doctor finishes the thorough examination and proceeds to use the handheld dermal regenerator, healing tender skin with well practiced motions. He explains the procedures he is performing in a soothing tone, but Spock finds himself distracted by his expression. The deep creases between his eyebrows match his counterpart's with startling accuracy. Abruptly, Spock is reminded of the day he attended McCoy's funeral in his universe. 

It would be the last funeral of a crewmate he attended. Everyone else was gone.

Doctor McCoy's voice startles Spock to the present. “The tests came back clean. There’s no rectal tearing, but you're going to be sensitive for a few days. Use the regenerator again after at least four hours.”

He hands a smaller dermal regenerator to Spock, along with ointment for pain relief. “Give us fifteen minutes to figure out what the drug is doing to your system. I’ll send the hypo with the counter straight to Jim’s room. You’re showing signs of dehydration, so try to drink something.” Doctor McCoy offers Spock a new hospital gown, which he takes gratefully. “Try to get some rest.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Dressed in the new garment, Spock leaves the Medical Bay to see Jim talking on his comm. Jim sees Spock and ends the call.

Spock walks up to him. “Who were you contacting?”

Jim hesitates but does not evade the question, knowing that Spock will find out sooner or later. “Had to cancel a reservation or two.” His tone is light. “And don’t you dare start feeling guilty. I know you.”

Spock just sighs.

Jim takes the regenerator and ointment from him, and they walk to Jim’s private quarters in silence. The doors slide closed and Jim voice-activates the lock.

Spock hears the beep and click and feels a little more tension leak out of him. If anything, he will at least be safe in this room.

Jim puts down the items from Doctor McCoy and stands in front of Spock, too close to be polite but too distant to be intimate.

“Tell me what you need,” Jim says, his voice fragile.

Spock is still coated in sweat and grime from the long journey. The dried slick between Spock's legs has become tacky and uncomfortable. “I would like to bathe properly.”

“Alone?” Jim tries to add something. He breathes, tries to speak again, fails again. He runs broad palms up and down Spock's arms, worry leaking through his skin. “I'm sorry, I can't send you away. I don't know if I could let you out of my sight right now.”

“I did not ask for solitude.” Spock guides Jim’s hands down around his waist to the cord that binds his gown together.

Jim looks Spock in the eye. “Is that permission for me to wash you?”

“It is.”

Jim sits him down on the loveseat adjacent to the bed. Spock has many good memories of this loveseat, involving books and blankets and idle conversation. Laughter.

Jim brings a mug from the replicator. It is warm to the touch with a faint aroma of honey.

“You wait here. I'll draw a bath.”

Spock watches Jim walk away, shoulders squared. The steam coming from the mug curls around Spock’s face, encouraging him to take a small sip.

Spock manages to finish the warm drink. He sets the mug aside and watches Jim moving about in the bathroom. Spock does not know when he did it, but Jim has raised the room's heat far above their compromised temperature. 

Jim returns and scoops Spock up in a bridal carry. “Bath's ready.”

“You overcompensate. It is within my capability to walk the distance to the bathroom door.”

Jim chuckles and shakes his head. “You're always spoiling me. Why can't you accept being the center of attention for once?”

Once they are in the bathroom, Jim lets Spock undress himself. The water is scalding hot as Spock prefers. He lowers his body in with a sigh, ignoring the dull pain in the places where the dermal regenerator was unable to fully heal his skin. Jim rolls up the hems of his pants to dips his feet in. They begin to turn pink from the excessive heat. 

Spock lets his fingers curl around Jim's ankle. Jim is using a washcloth to lather a bar of standard Starfleet soap.

Jim's touch is thorough and gentle. He already knows that Spock is not ticklish, so he keeps the washcloth light on Spock's irritated skin. Spock rests his head against Jim's clothed knee as Jim works. 

Despite Jim's best efforts, the washcloth feels abrasive against Spock's chest. Spock releases his hold on Jim's ankle and clenches his fists.

Jim pauses in his ministrations to reach for Spock's hand and press a Vulcan kiss to his fingers. Only then does Spock realize he was whimpering.

Jim uses the removable showerhead to carefully soak Spock’s hair. The shampoo he uses is lightly fragrant and familiar. It smells like Jim.

Spock’s eyes are closed. The feeling of Jim's blunt nails is gentle against his scalp, curving around his ears and down the back of his neck. When Jim rinses, it feels like some of the repulsive feelings are being washed away along with the shampoo. 

The rest of the unpleasantness lingers, reaching deep beneath the skin where no soap could ever reach.

Jim hesitates. “Do you - want to finish?” He slips a hand under the water to Spock’s upper thigh.

Spock knows Jim can see Spock’s semi-erected cock through his sheath. He feels Jim's uncertainty, the request for consent through the touch. 

Spock grasps Jim's hand and guides it down between his legs. “Please,” he whispers. 

It's a gesture Spock has done countless times before, yet the nervous energy sparking from Jim's skin feels the same as on the night Jim first pushed Spock onto his bed.

Jim takes in a shaky breath. “You need to let me know right away, if I should stop.” He retracts his hand to hold the washcloth again. 

Spock focuses on Jim's clinical, precise motions and the familiar gun calluses roughening the fingers that spread the folds of his slit. The calluses feel less prevalent than they used to feel.

Spock allows Jim to help him out of the bath. As Spock towels himself dry, Jim brings the hypo, synthesized and delivered 23.8 minutes after its expected delivery time. The production of the drug counter must have been more difficult than expected.

After Jim administers the hypo, he proceeds to spread the ointment on Spock's skin. With great relief, Spock feels his mental controls returning in increments. Jim's ceaseless worry trickles to a low buzz.

Spock slowly dresses in Jim's clothing, a t-shirt with a printed graphic and baggy trousers. Jim has always derived great amusement from seeing the older Vulcan in Earther fashion, but now his expression is subdued as he locates the hair dryer. 

Spock keeps touching the thicker fabric, with its strange seams and stranger graphic.

It would be easy to hide behind the excuse that it is practical to wear his intended’s clothing due to his own wardrobe being destroyed. The truth is that replicating a temporary robe would be easily accomplished. 

Spock allows himself to bask in the irrational feeling of protection from the layer of unusual clothing. 

Jim brings over the hair dryer, and they sit cross-legged on the bathroom floor, facing each other.

Jim has to raise his voice over the noise of the blowing air. “Not too hot?”

“This is fine,” Spock says, drowsy.

He feels Jim’s amusement through his touch, where his hand tousles Spock’s hair, where his knees press against Spock's. 

Jim shuts off the dryer, his hand still in Spock’s hair. “I'm glad you’re here,” he says softly.

Spock leans and presses his face against Jim’s. “Yes,” he murmurs, rubbing their cheeks together. Spock adores Jim's stubble, patchy with shaving imperfections. It does not matter how careful Jim is in preparing for the day; he always manages to miss a spot.

Spock brushes his teeth as Jim showers, then he waits as Jim also brushes his teeth.

They climb into bed together. Jim is beginning to sweat from the temperature difference, but he stays clothed. “Lights, Spock? Off?”

“No,” Spock says immediately. 

“That's fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Spock gives Jim a grateful nod. “Computer, lights at twenty percent.”

The room lights dim at the command. Jim's hand brushes over Spock's.

“Night, love.”

“Good night, Jim.”

*

Predictably, sleep eludes Spock.

Whenever he manages to enter a light doze, he instantly snaps back to alertness in alarm.

Time passes. Spock opens his eyes in defeat and stares at the ceiling. The fabric of the t-shirt chafes against his nipples and the sensation is distracting.

Finally Spock sits up and removes the t-shirt. Even in the sanctuary of Jim’s room, he feels exposed and vulnerable. There is movement in the corner of Spock's vision, and he realizes Jim’s eyes are open and watching him. Jim’s voice is hushed. “Wide awake?”

Spock nods once, feeling slight relief that Jim’s voice is alert, which means Spock did not wake him - and then he feels guilt for Jim being awake in the first place.

“Where’s that dermal regenerator Bones gave you?” Jim sits up and eases out of bed.

Spock hesitates, then removes the rest of his clothing along with his underwear, not bothering to fold them. He lies back down, angling his body towards Jim.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” The dermal regenerator passes over his wrists, his chest and between his thighs. Jim’s body hovers above his, avoiding contact. 

Jim has done so much for him, yet it is not enough. 

Spock makes a displeased noise. Jim’s hand freezes. “Something wrong?”

Spock does not say anything. Jim’s hands are tentative as they skate over Spock’s arms. “What do you need?”

Spock cannot vocalize his desire. He shakes his head. 

“_It's okay, love_.” Jim's hand comes to rest under his chin. His thumb brushes Spock's lips. “_I’m not going anywhere. I've told you before and I'll say it again - I'm always yours_.”

Spock hears the tender words in Vulcan and cannot stop from cupping Jim's face with shaking hands.

Spock presses his fingers to Jim’s meld points and projects a shallow sensation - _handled intimately but never kissed, rough touches all over skin but not a trace left behind that could identify the perpetrator_.

“. . . Yeah,” Jim says, his throat tight. “Yeah, I hear you.” He leans down and kisses Spock.

It is the first human kiss they have shared since Spock arrived.

Jim continues to caress with his lips, sliding his tongue into Spock's opened mouth, letting their breaths mingle. Jim trails kisses to Spock's cheeks and forehead before moving down to Spock's neck where he sucks at the skin. Jim lowers his head until he's kissing the junction between neck and shoulder.

He bites down hard.

Spock hisses at the sensation but doesn’t move.

Jim releases and lathes his tongue over the mark, then leans back to examine it.

“God. Look at it, Spock.”

Spock can see the darkening marks in the corner of his eye. The tooth marks are precise and distinct.

“You'd have no trouble identifying a bite mark that clear.” Jim holds up Spock's wrist, pressing his lips against the thinner skin, still sensitive from the wounds the handcuffs inflicted. With more gentle pressure, he marks Spock's wrists with his teeth, one at a time. Then gentler still, he puts Spock's hands between his teeth. Spock looks with satisfaction at matching half-crescents indenting his wrists and the backs of his hands.

Jim leans down and lets his breath ghost over a still-bruised nipple. Spock shivers, but doesn't push Jim away. 

Jim presses the soft flat of his tongue to the tender bud. The dull pain is indistinguishable from pleasure. Spock wraps a hand around the back of Jim's neck, pushing up into the touch. 

Jim wraps his lips around the bud, and his tongue grazes the tip. Then he moves to the other in languid fashion, taking his time to tease the sensitive flesh. His gentle sucking leaves behind the sheen of his saliva - temporary marks coating skin.

Spock groans. His slit is wet again, and his cock fully slips out from the stimulation. Jim ignores the sensitive, erect flesh and continues to suck on Spock's nipple, gently teasing the other with the tip of his finger.

The building orgasm is unpleasant, verging on discomfort when it peaks. The feeling after the climax passes is more of a relief than a satisfying afterglow. Spock pants, feeling his spent cock retreat inside him.

Jim’s shirt is off. He has shoved down his shorts and boxers to touch himself. He bucks into the tight curl of his hand, groaning aloud. Spock places a hand over Jim’s, and returns the other to Jim's meld points.

Jim gasps as the sensations are caught in a feedback loop between them. He paints Spock’s sheath and inner thighs with his seed. 

Jim kisses Spock again, dragging an uncoordinated hand down Spock’s body through the mess, letting his fingers dip inside the slit. Spock spreads his thighs wider, encouraging the touch. 

Jim's breath hitches. He bends down and drags his tongue up between the folds, slow and deliberate. Spock feels Jim's desire through the hand resting on Spock's stomach, and is not afraid.

Jim wipes Spock and himself off with a discarded shirt. The scent of Jim persists in the air and on Spock's skin. Spock relaxes into the pillow, his eyes sliding shut.

Jim nuzzles behind Spock and kisses his temple, right over a meld point. 

Spock falls asleep like that, his bare body pressed to Jim’s front, with Jim’s fingers splayed over his heart at his side.

*

Neither know it, but Jim will never be able to have penetrative sex with Spock ever again. Nor will he ever get to handle Spock’s body with the same level of intensity.

Sometimes Spock will not be able to fall asleep, plagued with chronic insomnia that will never fully go away. He will drive himself beyond exhaustion and eventually pass out on the kitchen or office room floor where Jim finds him in the morning. 

Jim will always carry him back to bed and tuck him in, kissing his temple right over a meld point.

Neither know it, but they will stay together regardless of what happened. They will get bonded.

The lights will never fully go out at night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (or reaching the bottom of the page ^^) I appreciate all kudos and any form of comments! especially the ones w emoji spam 💖💖✨✨
> 
> If you liked the hurt/comfort aspect of this story, [you might like this series about the _Enterprise_ crew discovering Ambassador Spock's secret (also asexual AOS Spock and Spock Prime bodyswap shenanigans!)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385366)


End file.
